biting tinfoil dreams that expire curiosity with paper thin come-hither motions. i am not alone but there’s a sneaking suspicion that this shit tastes like cake to most. cake, for fuck’s sake, sweet enough to tolerate. perhaps i should be fake, give in, and celebrate. complacency arrives just in time to see sparks fly from my teeth. dreams speak, from muted years of cheap friends who seek only to speak of cheap dreams. and suddenly i am cheapened. years spent. aluminum sweetened.